Peace Amongst Darkness
by SuperKittyCat
Summary: In the shadow of Bexhill Refugee Camp, love blooms between a hardened governemt official and a young beautiful refugee. Can he protect her and give her the peace she has been denied for so long.
1. Appointment

Peace Amongst Darkness

Chapter 1 - Appointment

The day was cold and overcast, throwing the buildings of Bexhill Refugee Camp into sharp focus. The buildings were inhabited by the sorry denizens of Bexhill; those that the United Kingdom had refused sanctuary. Within one of these buildings, a beautiful, slender, young woman named Petra Herzcegova lived. Petra was five foot six with shoulder length, ash blonde hair that framed a small oval face and intense hazel-green eyes. Those eyes were haunted as twenty-three year old, Petra exited the building and walked toward the Bexhill's reception area to keep an appointment with another in a long succession of Immigration Officers, all of who, so far, she had found unsympathetic so far. Petra was terrified of the meeting and wondered morosely what would come of this. The last IO was so unpleasant, just stopping short of name calling. Petra stopped and gazed into the distance; her eyes unfocused; going back in recent time, only eight months ago:

_Somewhere in Belarus: A day, just like today. The enemy came, and rounding the entire population of her village in the town square at gunpoint, marched them to the church, forced them inside. Petra, her mother, father and brother were jostled amongst the throng of screaming, yelling people toward the church which was normally a place of peace and joy, that now loomed before her. All the while, their enemies beat at them with clubs, and rifles urging them on. Petra and her younger brother, though terrified, observed their immediate environs, the trucks and assorted vehicles of the enemy. She had no time to properly count how many as she found herself stumbling into the church, almost falling over a pew. People, everywhere ran, yelled and screamed, as more and more were piled in. The next terror filled moments that went on forever – the fire. The stench of burning human flesh; pain filled shrieks of those burnt alive..._

Tears ran down Petra's face as she remembered the deaths of almost every person in her village; save for herself, Peter, her brother, and another boy. To this day she had no idea of Peter's whereabouts, but prayed every day for his safety. Peter, who taught her how to hot wire a vehicle and basic mechanics and how to operate a firearm – and she was a very good student t. The three of them had escaped the church without being detected by the grace of God; it being a matter of good luck than strategic planning.

Petra had reached the Reception Area which was manned by soldiers. Approaching the building slowly, she drew her shawl around her shoulders. The bottom of her ankle length hunter-green dress was mud stained and her flat shoes that stuck to her frozen feet were caked with it. A soldier, who was stationed outside the main entrance doors, motioned impatiently toward her with his carbine. Hesitantly, Petra drew near, just near enough to be heard, for this particular soldier had a penchant for violence against refugees and wasn't particularly bothered by gender.

"I have an appointment. My name is Petra Herzcegova", her voice was so soft as to be almost inaudible.

The man came slowly toward the girl. He was around thirty with narrow dark eyes and a mean face with a thin cruel mouth. This one was prettier than the others, he thought to himself, damn shame that, but it didn't alter the fact she was a foreign dreg and the sooner the IO's deported her sorry arse back to where she came from, the better.

"Righto, get in here, slut!", he snarled, prodding her in the back as she passed him. Petra almost fell down the step, maintaining a shaky composure as she entered the waiting area and sat on one of the uncomfortable benches in the dim large room.

Two kilometres away a, silver Toyota Camry travelled the English countryside toward Bexhill. The car had a single occupant – a man, aged forty-one, heavyset, with a round cherub face, still handsome, framed by short dark brown hair, glittering grey eyes and thick lips. He wore a crisp uniform, consisting of a black jacket, white shirt, tie, dark trousers and complimented nicely by shiny black shoes. A photo ID card lay face up on the passenger seat bearing the man's name and Position: Heathrow Woodford –Senior Immigration Officer. Above his photo, the insignia of the Immigration Department loomed – the UK entity responsible for sending countless refugees to their countries of origin and their deaths. Heathrow was in a buoyant mood this morning, the warmth of the car notwithstanding. Throughout his career with the Immigration Department, he himself was responsible for declining the majority of refugee's entry into the UK – in fact he took delight in deporting them. His grey eyes flinted and his face hardened in anger while he reflected on the influx of foreigners in the course of the last decade or so: draining the UK's resources, the cause of higher taxes for the British people and the acts of terrorism. Fucking bastards! Heathrow inadvertently accelerated, almost coming to grief with a wandering sheep.

"Fuck!" he swore. Stopping the car, he pulled over for a moment to collect his thoughts. Turning, Heathrow glanced back over his left shoulder at the animal he nearly hit. The sheep ba-ahed at the car indignantly. Annoyed, Heathrow seriously contemplated alighting from the car and shooting the animal right then and there, but re-considered and pulled out onto the road. Due to increasing violence, select civil servants were permitted concealed firearms under laws passed by Parliament.

In the Reception building, Petra waited with the other unfortunate refugees. She reflected she hadn't provided the full details of the massacre of her home town, so it came as no surprise the Immigration Officers were unsympathetic; after all, how many were claiming asylum due to war and civil disturbance in their countries. She gazed miserably through the entrance, to the overcast day outside, her mind wondering. She didn't register Heathrow's car drive in to the compound.

Heathrow parked the vehicle and alighted checking his watch. He walked leisurely toward the building, lighting a cigarette as he did so. The same soldier who ushered Petra and the other refugees into the holding area greeted him cheerfully.

"Haven't got many for you today, mate", he said handing Heathrow a manilla folder. Heathrow opened the folder and scanned the files therein, pausing to stare at the file marked: Herzcegova Petra Annika. He gazed at the passport sized photograph. Remembering where he was, Heathrow straightened and addressed the soldier.

"OK, let's stretch things out for these fine people", his handsome face broke into a smirk. Rearranging the files, he spoke "I'll see this bloke first; and her I'll see second", he earmarked Petra's file and gave the soldier a meaningful look. The soldier understood and grinned back.

To Be Continued..


	2. Official Meeting

Chapter 2 – Official Meeting

Half an hour had passed as Petra and the others waited for Immigration proceedings to begin. She glanced at the official, attired in the short black jacket that appeared to be gathering information on the latest applicants for the interviews, but in actual fact was deliberately delaying matters; a tactic Petra recognised - meant to cause psychological distress among the asylum seekers. So things were repeated ad-nauseum by these Government officials. The young woman sat on the bench unmoving, barely taking notice as others joined her. An eerie calm descended over Petra as she resigned herself to whatever fate awaited her. Whether sanctuary in the UK or rape and murder in Belarus was anybody's guess. Raising her eyes in the direction of the interview table, Petra found herself staring into the man's eyes and her breath caught and she trembled, as if a mild jolt of electricity coursed through her body. He stopped mid-stride and their eyes held for several moments that seemed to last an eternity, until she averted her gaze and hugged herself.

Heathrow was enjoying the refugees discomfort immensely, with something akin to arousal. He pretended to rifle through the files on the desk in front of him and talk with the other Immigration Offiicials and guards at the same time. A guard carrying a beaker of steaming coffee approached Heathrow and offered it.

"Thanks, pal", he winked. Turning back to face the assorted throng in the dock area, he made to sick at the desk and his eyes met hers. He was breathless for a moment that lasted a lifetime, or so it seemed. Her photo didn't do her beauty justice. It didn't even come close. Unfamiliar feelings rose from his core and threatened to overwhelm him. Those feelings merged into an internal storm, which stopped his breathing – a mixture of sexual arousal and terrible pity. Heathrow had the urge to race over to her and take her in his arms and kiss her and kiss her and... He was jolted back to reality by a scalding pain. A minute amount of coffee had inadvertently spilled onto his hand. Irritated he slammed the beaker onto the desk, steeled himself and sat down. The Immigration Officer was ready.

Time passed agonising slow, at least for the remaining refugees. Petra gazed straight ahead, her eyes straying against her will to the dark haired man conducting the interviews. Her mind wandered, acting as a buffer against the harsh conditions in which she found herself. She daydreamed about the dark haired man ; what would it be like to be with him, close to him, to be touched, to be held, to be ... Now it was Petra who returned to reality, and the cold. The man's voice was audible, even amongst the general hubbub and mournful murmurs of her fellow refugees. He spoke contemptuously to the ragged, filthy fellow in the Spartan wooden chair before him – the first one to have an audience with him.

"We are clean in the United Kingdom!", Heathrow's voice rose with fury, "We are disease free and we take pride with our hygiene."A pause, a glare, then "Your application for asylum is denied" Petra watched as Heathrow motioned to an armed guard standing nearby.

"Take this piece of shit away before I throw up!" The elderly man was seized roughly from the seat and manhandled to the exit. Petra knew the unfortunate old man, who was well known in Bexhill for having a severe body odour problem would be shipped out on the buses that departed the camp with monotonous regularity. With certainty, Petra knew he would not be here tonight. Where would he be? Most probably rotting in a mass grave, she surmised. At the thought of his, she was gripped by a low terror. Oh, God, almighty! What would happen to her if she were deported back to Belarus? Dark hair was in an evil mood now, not even having seen the second interviewee. Her face tightened and she cursed Smelly Man and was instantly ashamed.

Heathrow angrily rose and strode toward the exit absolutely enraged. How dare they? How dare they? The administrators of Bexhill ought to lose their jobs over the lack of control they had over the everyday activities of the internees. The old bastard who sat before him smelt like he had showered in ten years. Disgusting! Well, he would deport every one of these 'people'back to their hovel countries. Heathrow raised the two-way radio to his lips about to give his executive order then paused. He smiled coldly. No, he'd interview the girl in the green dress first after morning tea. Then – he would purge them.

A hellish hour and a half before anyone else was interviewed, almost drove Petra over the edge. She had difficulty holding onto her sanity as it was – or so her tortured mind communicated to her, as she walked around the dock area. The weather in Bexhill wasn't improving, in fact it got colder. Despite this, Petra moved slowly toward the refugee exit. Inside was much too stifling and she breathed the fresh air gratefully. She leant against the building for support. Attempting to stand straight, Petra almost collapsed in a heap, if not for an elderly woman, another refugee who caught her and aided her inside for the next round of interviews.

Across the wide room, Heathrow stood with his officials and guards conversing in hushed tones. He turned and faced the dock area, his grey eyes scanning the room for her. He watched as Petra entered, assisted by the crone. _So why aren't you helping her? _ An inner voice asked. He had no answer, and it was his turn to feel shame.

One of the other IO's sidled to Heathrow's side, a reedy little man with thinning hair and sneaky eyes; Heathrow took an instant dislike to him "We call her the dyke of Bexhill", my God, Heathrow thought, even his voice was reedy "she's notorious among the young ones"

Heathrow spun to face him, eyes blazing, ",,,,and you haven't actioned anything yet?"Disgustedly, Heathrow shoved him aside and approached an armed guard "You!", the guard stood to attention as Heathrow barked orders "That old crone. Take her out the back and put a bullet in her brain!"

The guard hurried to do Heathrow's biddng. The old woman was marched away. Minutes later a distant gunshot was heard. The old woman's life was extinguished by a nine millimetre bullet.

Petra Herczegova met Heathrow Woodford in an official capacity at exactly 11:00am on 4 November 2025. Her fate was in his hands. Heathrow regarded the girl, who was obviously frightened. His eyes travelled over her body as she approached. Quite nice, under that non-descript dress. Slowly, carefully she lowered her pained, freezing frame into the chair, wincing. Seconds later, the interview commenced.

"Reason for coming to the United Kingdom?', his voice, flat, devoid of any emotion, posed the first question – always the first question

"Please", her voice was thin, soft, on the verge of fresh tears Ï...I come safety. I have no home in my country. War. Family dead", her eyes downward as she responded.

Heathrow's eyes never left her face. He toyed with the idea of approving her there and then, but decided to exert a little more pressure. Steeling himself for the next phase in the process, Heathrow set his features into a grim determination.

"Look at me", his voice rose an octave. Petra's eyes met his cold grey ones, and he began speaking again, slowly deliberately "War? Family dead? Do you know how many times I hear that? That means nothing to me, nothing to my country", he leant back in his chair, "you've got ten seconds to give me a better reason than that", he shifted position again, moving close to her otherwise this interview will be terminated and you will be on the bus by lunchtime! _Talk!"_

Petra's bottom lip quivered. It was now or never. Painful as it was, she had no choice but to detail the massacre of her town.

"...so you see, I am a witness to atrocity. If I'm sent back, they will kill me", her hands were now extended in supplication across the desk as she sobbed uncontrollably "Please, please don't send me back. I beg of you. I –beg – you"

Petra fainted from sheer exhaustion, both mental and physical and had to be taken to the infirmary. Heathrow was left sitting at the desk in a state of shock. His feelings were betrayed by a badly shaking hand as he signed her approval papers.

He closed his eyes. She was safe.


	3. Investigation

A/N: This is Chapter 3 of Peace Amongst Darkness. Reviews are welcome and would be appreciated.

Chapter 3 – Investigation

11:15am 4 November 2025. This was the date and time, Petra Herzcegova was wheeled into the Medical Centre of the Bexhill facility. The UK equipped all it's detention camps with medical capabilities because external hospitals did not wish to treat illegals for numerous reasons, some ill-founded, some not. Dr Fred Freeman, the registrar and most senior person in the centre was on duty this morning. Dr Freeman, a gregarious and compassionate man, was Australian. He was five feet nine, with crew cut, sandy blonde hair and an open friendly face. All the staff on Medical were fond of Fred due to his dedication to the most marginalised of people. His assistant for the day was Dr Youssef 'George' Hadir. George, a fellow registrar was stocky, medium height, olive skinned and bald. George possessed a happy-go-lucky demeanour and was equally popular as Fred, often joking and laughing with his colleagues, but not today.

Petra's vitals went off the scale when she was attached to the monitors. A phalanx of emergency personnel surrounded her, including George and Fred. Quickly assessing her, Fred turned to Sheena Conway, a registered nurse with black hair.

"Get the crash cart, Sheena!", turning to other nurses and an administrator, he asked "Does anyone know her name?"

Sheena promptly acquired the requested crash cart and other people moved quickly and efficiently, gathering information and baseline data. Petra was instantly diagnosed as being hypothermic, and that damp green dress she wore wasn't helping. Seconds later, an unconscious Petra was stripped of the garment and swathed in blankets.

"Intubate her, Chelsea", George instructed. Chelsea, a softly spoken African-American RN did as instructed. The team worked quickly and accurately. Petra's heartbeat was displayed on the monitor and was checked vigorously by the team. A cannula, attached to an IV line was inserted into a vein in Petra's arm, a NGT promptly travelled through, her nose, and a shock was delivered courtesy of a defibrillator to correct an ineffective heartbeat, and finally a catheter joined the menagerie of medical equipment finding it's way to Petra's bladder.

At 11:20, Heathrow walked in to the Medical Centre, his heart beating uncontrollably, or so it seemed to him. Standing at the Reception desk, he wondered why the Centre was deserted. Minutes passed and finally a woman carrying several files approached the desk. Heathrow strode toward her trying to keep his emotions in check.

"I'm enquiring about a girl admitted five minutes ago", he spoke slowly, deliberately keeping his voice soft "Petra Herczegova"

The clerk consulted her computer "Herczegova", then looking up at Heathrow, "yes, the doctor's are with her now. Someone will be out to inform you of her progress directly"

"Thanks, but unfortunately I can't hang around, but I'll leave my contact details"

"Your name, please, sir?"

"Heathrow Woodford, Senior Immigration Agent...", Heathrow gave the clerk his mobile and landline numbers and left the Centre.

The process of extracorporeal re-warming was begun on Fred and George's young patient. Blood was being circulated from her body, to a specially designed warmer and returned to her body. During this time, Petra's condition was carefully monitored. One of the nurses brought two blue hospital gowns in readiness for the patient to put on at a more suitable time. Two hours passed. It was nearing 1:30pm when Petra began to gradually come to. She drifted in and out of consciousness with the periods of unconsciousness briefer and briefer. By 3:00pm, Petra was by all intents and purposes awake and responding well. The girl's mind travelled back through the events of the day. In her nether-state, Petra had sensed people around her, sensations of needles, and catheters entering her body and to mild chagrin discovered aforementioned catheter and IV line connected. Confused the girl ,slowly sat upright. Chelsea was instantly at her bedside.

"Let's get you more comfortable, hon", Chelsea operated the bed's remote and deftly propped up the pillows in one movement. She then assisted Petra into the regulation hospital garments.

"Thank you", Petra managed a weak smile and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Heathrow, on the other hand had no time to sleep or relax. He was chained to his office desk with a telephone attached to his ear. Staring at the computer screen in front of him he realised something incredible and horrifying. Children were murdered in the Belarus massacre along with the adults. No children had been born for eighteen years. Not only did the crime have an impact on Belarus, but the world itself. Children were killed who could have re-populated the world. Heathrow rubbed his eyes, aware of a pain beginning behind his eyes. He placed the telephone receiver on its cradle. Seconds later, the phone trilled again.

"Immigration, Heathrow Woodford speaking"

"I have Minister Prothero's Office on the line for you, Heathrow", a tinny female voice replied

"Thanks, Hilda"

A beep in Heathrow's ear, then the booming voice of Lewis Prothero, the Home Office and Security Minister. Prothero's politics were to the far right and laws had been enacted since his appointment which impacted on people such as migrants, minorities and the poor. Prothero's Department provided protection details for VIP and it was the reason for Heathrow's call to Prothero's office. Petra 's testimony in a court of law against the Belarus perpetrators.

4:15pm – A threat had been made against the witnesses life. Heathrow acted fast in arranging protection for Petra via Prothero who agreed on the condition he met with Petra to assess her evidence.

"I'll speak to Creedy about getting three of London's finest as a protection detail for the girl. They'll be at Bexhill in the morning. Where is she now?", Prothero asked

"In Bexhill's Medical Centre", Heathrow frowned, "Minister, I'll be at Bexhill myself in the morning and it might be better if I take her to London myself and meet the Fingermen there – at least that was my original plan..." he trailed off.

"Alright then. Creedy's boys can follow in their car", agreed the Minister "One more thing, Mr Woodford, I'll expect your full report by COB today

"Yes, sir", Heathrow closed his eyes visibly relieved. At least Petra wouldn't be exposed to Creedy's secret police just yet. He knew first -hand what they were capable of – rape and murder. He terminated the call and set about finalising his report. Another phone call to Bexhill. Several armed guards took position around the Med Centre.

09:00am 5 November – Medical Centre Bexhill – Petra lie in her bed dozing peacefully. The catheter had been taken out and the IV was still to come out. A nurse approached her bed wheeling a Dynamat , and proceeded to take her observations. In the preceding hours, Petra had been awake and as close to happiness as she was ever going to be. Two cleaners chatted to her. She recalled they were Australian too – Fay and Margo. Another brought her breakfast – another Australian, an elderly woman called Lizzie. A few moments after 9:00am, Chelsea, the African- American RN removed her cannula. Chelsea scanned her chart.

"Chelsea,?" Petra swallowed nervously.

"Yeah, hon?", Chelsea smiled warmly

"I'd like to thank you all for your kindness, and for saving my life:, she held Chelsea's gaze "while I was under, I heard voices...like you all thought I was dying"

Chelsea nodded in affirmation "You nearly were, sweetheart – and that green dress you wore was useless – you may as well have been wearing a bikini! You were ice cold" The nurse squeezed Petra's arm reassuringly "Hey, you're being discharged this morning. All you've gotta do is relax and wait for Heathrow"

Petra didn't have to wait long. He appeared at her bedside at 9:15. She shaikily stood to greet him. Seeing she was unsteady on her feet, he caught her before she fell and held her securely.

"Well, you're certainly looking a lot better compared to yesterday. How are you feeling?", his grey eyes scanned her face as he held her close. Petra embraced him, her arms clasping his shoulder-blades for support.

"Heathrow, I'm fine. Just a bit giddy"

Three men stood at the reception desk watching the scene. These men were Creedy's protection detail for Petra and Heathrow. Petra had no other clothes than what she wore. Chelsea handed her a third hospital gown and assisted her into it. Petra's trembling increased markedly at a glance at the Reception desk. Her eyes had met those of the men – a heavyset moustached fellow with a florid face and black hair; the other two were thin and mean looking.

To Be Continued


	4. Asylum

Chapter 4 - Asylum

**Here's the next instalment of my Fanfic. Reviews welcome**

9:45am –6 November: The Protection Party were moved to a small waiting area in the Medical Centre whilst Petra's discharge papers were processed. Petra had taken the first tentative steps from her bed since the ordeal. Slowly she walked toward the phalanx of expectant men who stood to attention as she and Heathrow approached.

"Can you walk to the car?", asked Heathrow, his hand lingering on her elbow as he followed close behind.

"Yes. I'll be OK", Petra half turned toward him. Suddenly she collapsed toward him and he caught her again.

"I don't agree, sweetheart", he commented drily. Swiftly he reached under her knees and lifted her body, carrying her securely. Petra took a few deep breaths and burying her head into his chest allowed herself a small smile. Chelsea noticed, and winked at Petra conspiratorially. Heathrow allowed himself a tight little grin as she held him for support – arms around his neck. If the honey didn't want to walk, he'd willingly oblige by carrying her.

"I'm sorry, Heathrow, I'm still weak", she said softly

"Oh, of course you are", he replied mildly, however his tone conveyed he didn't believe her and was content to play her game. Heathrow's grip tightened on Petra and he stepped up pace as he approached the other men. Petra's eyes widened in fear as they came closer to the men who were all armed with sub-machine guns. The florid-faced, moustached man smiled as Heathrow came within reach; his tall, thin, mean looking compatriots crowded in on the Immigration Officer and the girl in his arms.

"Heathrow Woodford", a voice boomed from somewhere ahead. Heathrow turned in the direction of the voice and another man appeared, aged in his thirties, with sandy straight, slicked-back hair and carried the air of an aristocrat. Agent Branxton Hall, one of the most dangerous members of the Government Security Force "long time no see" Heathrow's face darkened and he tensed. Petra squirmed worriedly. Heathrow's eyes met hers and seemed to say "Don't worry. I'm with you"

Hall strode toward Heathrow and when he reached the two, reached out a gloved hand and gripped the girl's chin, so that she was forced to look at him –a tactic Heathrow, himself had employed in the past – designed to intimidate suspects. The Agent released her roughly after a moment or so, and Petra turned herself into Heathrow's chest and began sobbing. He felt tears dampen his leather jacket, and his eyes flashed with barely concealed fury.

"OK, tough guy." Quipped the Immigration Officer "What's the itinerary today?"

"Direct to London with one lunch stop – one brief lunch stop", Hall shifted his position onto the ball of his opposite foot. "I trust you've brought a thermos"

"Yeah, full of hot coffee. With enough for two", Heathrow replied. Petra squirmed again, wriggling herself into a vertical position. Heathrow resisted, his hold tightening. She gazed at him, her expression sorrowful. She didn't want to leave the security of his embrace, but she felt she had to – for his sake and to prove to herself she could be strong.

"I think I must walk. Yes?", Petra murmured softly, easing gradually into a standing position. Without warning, an agent with thinning hair and thin face stepped behind Petra and wrapped an arm tightly around her waist, pulling her against him. At the same time, the florid-faced moustached, and the sallow-faced agents seized Heathrow, throwing him face-first against the wall and proceeded to disarm him.

"Your weapon will be returned at your car", said Hall examining the firearm, a nine millimetre H&K. "if you're a good little boy", Hall continued smoothly "I'll issue you with one of these", he indicated the sub-machine gun on, Gossard, the florid-faced man. Heathrow and Petra's gazes locked. Denton Stevens, the man who held Petra buried his face menacingly into her neck and was kissing it. Tears ran down the girl's face; she was terrified. Heathrow turned to face his former colleague.

"Tell Stevens to cool it with the girl", his voice was low, and he could be menacing when he put his mind to it "if anything happens to her before the hearings, it isn't gonna look too good for you, or Creedy" Hall regarded Heathrow thoughtfully for a moment, then struck his face hard. The blow sent the Immigration Officer reeling.

"Heathrow!", Petra, struggling vainly in Stevens grip cried. The Medical Centre was deserted. Heathrow understood that Hall's assault on him was intended to rattle the girl, who obviously cared for him.

Denton Stevens was enjoying himself. He hadn't had the opportunity to get so personal with a girl so beautiful, and she was very beautiful. Regretfully, he mused, he would never get to know her over the long term as she obviously had a thing for Heathrow Woodford. However, Denton's behaviour toward the gorgeous Eastern European was wholly different to other women who had the misfortune to be 'detained' by him and his friends. For one thing he was far more gentle with Petra and his kisses were soft- whereas he bit his other victims.

From that moment, proceedings were expedited. At Branxton's signal, Stevens and Petra passed them en route to Heathrow's car. Ian Gossard and Willy Peterson released Heathrow and flanking him followed. Branxton was as cold as ice, Heathrow thought, worriedly. He understood the logic of screwing with detainees, but victims and witnesses? Heathrow himself wasn't the most compassionate, but something about Branxton, set his teeth on edge.

By 10:30, Heathrow and Petra were safely cocooned in the Camry. One of Hall's men, the sallow faced, yellow toothed Willy stood by the passenger side door, his hand resting on the car roof. Hall leant against the driver's side brandishing the sub-machine gun.

"Well, here's your prize, old boy", Hall loomed in the open window as he passed the weapon to Heathrow who was in the driver's seat. In the passenger seat, Petra shrank into her seat and watched fearfully as Heathrow inspected the gun. His H&K was also returned as promised, quickly disappearing into the glove-box.

"It's been a blast catching up, Branxton", Heathrow glanced at Petra as he said this while fastening his seatbelt intending to make a quick getaway; the car's engine was already running. Branxton, however wasn't ready to let them go just yet.

"Until London then,_ Heathrow_!", the last word was uttered sarcastically. Hall held his friend's arm tightly "Keep in radio contact. We'll be monitoring you" With those words Hall stepped back. No time was wasted in getting out of Bexhill by Heathrow who put the car in gear and accelerated immediately. Glancing in the rear view mirror, Heathrow spotted the rest of the party following close behind.

The journey through the main reception area was slow. Almost all of the incoming traffic consisted of buses entering, some filled with refugees, some empty. The buses were interspersed with military vehicles; jeeps and humvees. Petra settled to a comfortable position in her seat and half turned to gaze at Heathrow. His face was bathed in the yellow-orange glow of the instrument panel lights. A GPS device was fastened to the windscreen on Heathrow's side. She studied his face closely. She longed to touch him, to kiss his full lips. In the driver's seat, Heathrow frowned at the deteriorating weather . The sky turned black. It's about to piss down, he thought grimly. After two more minutes, the protection party reached the exit of Bexhill. Petra turned away from the man to stare out the window. She wouldn't be sorry to leave this hellish place.

Sure enough, as Heathrow predicted, it began to rain; light at first, then the raindrops became larger, quickly turning into a relentless downpour forcing Heathrow to travel well below the speed limit. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he spotted the Protection Detail's car. Gossard was driving; Hall rode shotgun with Willy and Denny in the rear seats. Heathrow allowed himself a tight grin: He could have sworn he saw Gossard intentionally run down a refugee lying in the road in the main reception area – he and Petra certainly heard a scream of pain. Petra had started and turned to gaze fearfully over her shoulder.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep?" Heathrow suggested gently

"I will try", she shifted toward him. In a slow, fluid movement, he took his left hand off the wheel and extended his arm around her shoulder, bringing her against him. Petra didn't resist. Nestling herself against him, she placed a shy, tentative hand on his chest. Their faces were so close together, she could almost kiss him from her proximity. Desire coursed through his being, so strong, it took all of Heathrow's willpower to concentrate on the road in front of him.

The rain fell even harder, if that was even possible. The windscreen of the Camry shimmered with sheets of water cascading down its length. Heathrow disengaged himself and placed both hands on the wheel. Beside him, Petra settled and closed her eyes. She still wore the double hospital gowns the nurses issued to her. Opening her eyes, she turned herself to look at the man driving. His face was set in grim concentration, both hands gripping the steering wheel, eyes trained on the road, unblinking. Petra shifted again carefully to glance through the back window at the vehicle behind them. Government Security still tailing them.

Heathrow turned to face her briefly "Everything OK?"

"Yes, OK", she replied, her eyes fearfully fastened on the car behind them and the four occupants therein.

Heathrow gently nudged her and not for the first time urged she get catch some sleep. Petra complied, sitting in the passenger seat looking out the front windscreen.

"Did Denny hurt you?", Heathrow asked softly

"No", Petra said, "but he started kissing and licking my neck!", this brought renewed crying "I'm sorry"

"Don't be", he leant toward her, his left hand stroking her cheek. Impulsively, Petra grabbed his hand and began to kiss it in much the same fashion as Denton had subjected her to earlier. Heathrow grunted in surprise, then pleasure.

"Oh, Heathrow! Heathrow!", she sobbed his name, clutching his hand.

Heathrow slowed the car and pulled in to the layby. The car behind them did likewise. Undoing his seatbelt, then hers, he drew her into his arms and began kissing her. Their lips brushed. Heathrow lightly nipped hers, then closed in, the kiss becoming more urgent. Petra responded ardently, opening her mouth to receive an even deeper kiss. Heathrow moaned in ecstasy as he kissed her. They were interrupted by the two-way.

"Everything alright?"

He turned his face slightly to the side to answer "Fine. The girl had an anxiety attack. Underway shortly"

"Copy"

The two occupants of the Toyota faced each other and smiled. The Immigration Officer embraced her. He began caressing her face with his lips. She turned her face upwards, murmuring his name over and over. His full lips traversed the contours of her face, eyes, and brows, passing her nose, lips, chin and moving toward her throat when the kisses turned urgent. Petra gave a cry of pleasure and inched her face skyward. She clutched his shoulders never wanting the moment to end.

Heathrow's kisses subsided gradually, until he reluctantly disengaged himself from her embrace. He contemplated the road ahead and glanced quickly in the rear view mirror. The other vehicles were still with them. The Toytota's indicator flashed and Heathrow pulled out into the road. The rain was ever relentless. Both occupants stared miserably at the windscreen, and Petra slowly fell asleep.

An hour later, the cars pulled up at a secluded bungalow. Petra awoke startled as Heathrow killed the engine. An elderly man with long grey hair and beard came to greet them. The rain had lessened to a moderately heavy downpour. The door of the other vehicle slammed as Branxton Hall alighted with a furious expression on his face. The elderly fellow saw this, but Heathrow didn't as he and Petra approached. Heathrow whispered urgently into Petra's ear.

"I'll say you've become ill. Just play along. You'll be stopping here with Jasper", he indicated the genial man on the porch. "When I tell you to – faint"

Petra nodded, but with uncertainty. Heathrow addressed Jasper.

"I'm calling in the favour you owe me"

"Yeah, had a feeling I'd be seeing you again, Heathrow. How you been? Jasper came forward and gently took Petra by the arm. Petra actually wasn't feeling well. The world began to oscillate and spin.

"Heathrow", she said his name so quietly, a sibilant whisper "Heathr-" Unconsciousness claimed her and Heathrow quickly carried her through Jasper's house into the guest bedroom. Working together the two men placed the girl under the covers, and looked at each other worriedly.

"There's a bloke I know", Jasper told Heathrow, whose features were clouded by anxiety as he gazed achingly at the girl he was falling in love with, "we can trust him" Jasper then left Heathrow, but not before glancing over his shoulder to see the other kneeling by the bed and bringing a slender wrist to his lips and kissing it.


	5. Rest

**Chapter 5 - Rest**

**Enjoy Chapter 5**

In Jasper's house, Heathrow Woodford was confronted by a furious Branxton Hall. The Agent strode toward the Immigration Official and eye-balled him. Heathrow met his gaze unflinching. In the bedroom behind them, Petra slept, still, underneath the blankets. Jasper moved silently, re-arranging the pillows and bed-clothes. Willy, Denny and Gossard occupied the living room like a trio of malignant wraiths.

"What the fuck are you playing at, Woodford?" growled Hall, sounding like the thug he actually was;. The smoothness was gone from his voice. Heathrow smirked ill humouredly at this.

"The girl became ill in the car. I thought it prudent to let her rest up, so she's at least stable when she meets with Prothero", he responded mildly. Hall was further infuriated, because he saw the logic in Heathrow's reasoning. Hall glanced at his surroundings then fixed the Immigration Official with an icy glare.

"Twenty-four hours, then it's on to London", the Security Officer shook his head imperceptivity "Y' know, Woodford, I dunno why we just don't do her in right here and now. We've been offered fifty-thousand pounds to kill her"

It was Heathrow's turn to shake his head "Oh yeah? When were you gonna let me in on this little secret?', he paused, then continued, "But that's not gonna happen, Hall, and do you know why?" Heathrow struck at the other with deadly speed. Dead-legging Hall, Heathrow dealt a blow to Hall's solar plexus, then while Hall was collapsed, Heathrow manoeuvred himself behind Hall and held him in a choke-hold. He continued speaking "it's not gonna happen for two reasons: Number one – this court case is too important and secondly, I happen to care for her", Heathrow bent and increased his stranglehold; Hall gasped "so if you wanna piss me off any more than you already have today- go ahead and see what happens!"

Contemptuously, Heathrow released Hall who gagged and crawled away from him. The three other Security Officers stood around uncertainly. Hall turned an enraged gaze on them.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU GAWKING AT?" The three withdrew fearful. When Branxton Hall was in a bad mood, everyone around him suffered. Jasper wisely stayed in the bedroom watching over Petra, who began to stir periodically, then fell into slumber again. Denny Stevens, one of the three tentatively approached Heathrow.

"Can I say me goodbyes?"

"Yeah", answered Heathrow, barring the corridor to the bedroom, and waved mockingly "Goodbye!"

"I meant to Petra", the last came out as a whine. Whiners and wheedlers set Heathrow on edge, and nothing more irritated him.

"No, you can't!", he advanced menacingly on Stevens "so you and your mates can sod off!"

It seemed the Security Officers weren't entirely finished with Heathrow. Gossard stepped forward and offered his two cents worth.

"What does she know about you, Heathrow?" his voice was silky, icy "Does she know you used to work with us? Does she know about Lisa Stevenson and Eve Hayer"

Those two names. Two women. Two victims. His two victims. Correction – their victims. One fateful night, a lifetime ago: Heathrow had joined Gossard, Petersen and Stevens on a stakeout. What happened to those two women was monstrous.

"I remember. I also remember you and these two", he indicated Willy and Denny, "having some fun of their own. I merely put 'em out of their misery"

"LETS GO!", Hall yelled, ending the discussion once and for all. The four men departed after more fractured arguments. Both Heathrow and Jasper exchanged relieved glances. In the bedroom, Petra stirred as they waited for Jasper's doctor friend. She fell into sleep again.

The two men headed to the living room, where Jasper rolled a joint on the couch. Heathrow helped himself to Jasper's whisky. Trembling, he poured the amber liquid into a tumbler, gulped and poured some more. He returned to the couch and sat as Jasper lit the joint. The older man took a drag, inhaled and grinned, his eyes closed. Opening his eyes he turned to Heathrow and offered the joint.

"Want some?"

Heathrow considered for a moment and inclined the ageing hippie and accepted the joint. Drawing in deeply, Heathrow allowed the drug to envelope his body. He became aware of a taste in his mouth – strawberries.

"Strawberry kisses", offered Jasper grinning

Heathrow leant back on the lounge, "Interesting" The Immigration Officer took another drag. Jasper sighed.

"So what's this favour?", he asked tentatively

"Look after Petra, until I can get her to London safely. She'll be here a couple of days", answered Heathrow. "I should have known something like this would happen! Damn it!", his voice rose "Those four are amongst the most corrupt money hungry bastards-"

"And you're an angel?", Jasper interrupted Heathrow's ruminations. Heathrow spun to face him. Jasper had a grin on his face. Jasper wasn't horrified or grossly offended. He had seen too much, was too jaded in this dystopian world.

"Yeah, in this case", Heathrow answered gruffly still pacing in the space between the lounge-suite and the drinks tray.

"Aaaah, true love", murmured the old hippie. Heathrow ceased his pacing and handed the joint back to Jasper after taking another deep drag. Jasper watched amused as Heathrow headed toward Petra's bedroom, passing Janice, Jasper's wife who was on her way to the living room. Janice frowned deeply upon realising their visitor's identity and gazed at her husband questioningly.

Petra drifted in and out of reality. Some colour had returned to her face, and Heathrow was relieved. Her eyes fluttered open, closed and open again. She regarded the man kneeling beside her calmly, as if she didn't recognise him. Petra's eyes lit up upon recognising Heathrow. She attempted to lift herself up to greet him. Easing her back on the pillow, Heathrow shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Her arms reached for him. She was persistent, he had to admire her for that . He relented and took her into his embrace. Petra's limbs entwined around him. She raised her head and gazed at him.

"Have those men gone?", she asked

"Yeah", he responded with a confidence he did not feel "they won't be a problem"

Petra manoeuvred herself to a fully upright position then attempted to get out of the bed. Heathrow deflected any attempt to do so, firmly pulling the bed-clothes over her again.

"No!", he spoke firmly, but gently, easing her against the pillow, he leant in for a kiss. She reciprocated and their lips brushed against each other. Heathrow opened her mouth with his, and the kiss became more passionate. Pulling her against him and holding her tightly, his lips left hers, and caressed her face, eyes, nose and throat. Petra gave herself over to the pleasure of his touch. Slowly she became aware a scent of strawberries, mingled with something more earthy.

"Your breath, Heathrow. What is on your breath?"

"Huh?", his eyes lit in realisation of her reference "Well, that's something special Jasper has. You'll get some if you're good and rest a little while longer" Petra agreed to this and lay back down again. Heathrow stood and began disrobing, aware that Petra watched him intently. First the jacket, then white shirt, singlet and he stood before her bare-chested. He approached her and knelt down. Petra leant toward him and tentatively brushed her hand against his shoulder.

"I need a shower", he said. "After that we'll go out to the living room for the treat I promised you"

Petra lay back content and fell into a light sleep. Her dreams were sad, distorted. She dreamt of children. Babies cried in her dream and toddlers grizzled. She writhed in her sleep as if reaching out to comfort those desolate children. Her dream continued, at least until Heathrow returned from his shower attired in a short-sleeved terry-robe. Janice entered the room with a spare kimono which she offered to Petra.

The woman assisted the young girl to a sitting position and into the garment which she wrapped around her. Heathrow leant in the doorway and watched the women, a small peculiar smile on his lips. Janice silently aided Petra to her feet and, not for the first time, Heathrow was approached. He stepped forward to claim Petra when they neared. Janice held onto the girl's arm.

"It was lovely to meet you, Petra. I'm retiring for the night as I haven't been well recently", Janice's voice was soft. "Goodnight, Petra", turning to Heathrow, "Goodnight, Heathrow"

"Night, Janice. Have a good sleep, eh?", he responded laconically

"Good night, Janice. I'm very grateful for your hospitality. I can never repay you", Petra said.

"No payment ever needed", the other woman smiled and impulsively leaned in to kiss Petra on the cheek. Janice then walked unsteadily toward the master bedroom. Jasper was ready to assist his wife and both disappeared into the bedroom. Heathrow and Petra watched them from their position of the doorway of the guest bedroom. He felt a surge of anger, but suppressed it. What the hell was up with these old crones? Did they have to maul younger women to feel young? Another second longer, he could have snapped Janice's neck.

"C'mon", he said. Walking ahead of Petra, Heathrow took her by the hand and lead her to the living room. Two joints lay on the coffee table. Petra took time to observe her surroundings, the bric-a-brac, the 60's style furniture, the flat-screen TV that occupied the wall of the room. The leather lounge was comfortable and Petra sat and curled both legs under her and hugged herself. She shivered, but with anticipation as she watched Heathrow search for a lighter.

"Hey, you two", Jasper called out from the hallway, "Jan and me are gonna have an early night. Don't do anything I wouldn't do, eh", and a wink. Both Petra and Heathrow waved from the lounge. By this time, Heathrow was sat beside her, his body positioned very close to her, intimately so. The lighter snicked, then the smell of cannabis. Petra turned to Heathrow, whose arm was wrapped around her shoulder. She nestled in close to him, and watched as he puffed the joint.

"Here, your turn", he said, and coughed, and sighed contentedly. She took the joint from him and inhaled and was doubled over with a coughing fit. He quickly took the joint from her, drawing her against him.

"You, OK?", he rubbed her back until she recovered. Petra smiled widely and a goofy expression came over her. Heathrow chuckled.

"I can taste the strawberries", she told him

"That's why Jasper calls it Strawberry Cough", he responded easing her onto the couch.

It happened so fast, Petra hadn't realised anything had happened. She felt a sting as Heathrow entered her, but pleasure. Their lovemaking had been spontaneous and they made love several times that night.

Petra knew Heathrow was the man she wanted to spend her life with. For better or worse: for richer or poorer.

To Be Continued...

**Hope you enjoyed. Reviews most welcome**


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